9.28.2010

Los acusadores / José Antonio Ramos Sucre

The Accusers

I defended the youngest daughter of a king when she saw herself crushed by her unfaithful sisters and from that moment I set off on the path of exile. I crossed the sea in one night and found myself in front of a demolished coast. I recognized the domicile of a hermit served by a throng of sea birds, of thick bearing and guttural voice. He placed bagpipes in my hands. I was supposed to play them when the afternoon fell and its melodies were enough to create the image of the native ground and keep me from forgetting it. In this manner I cultivated the feeling of absence and achieved fame for being an eloquent artist and I would repay the hospitality with the sounds of a sensible music. I played the bagpipes amid the uncertainty of a vain twilight, made iridescent by the rain. The moon was emerging soon afterwards, ringed with a tenuous aureole, and it recalled the resentful virgin and her crown of Celtic verbena. The sisters occupied her in undignified and urgent ministries, attentive to withering her. She suffered and died when she noticed her parched beauty and scullions and kitchen wenches made up her funeral procession. I wanted to spread news of the treason to the four winds and referred it to a group of traveling actors, taking advantage of a sojourn on their road.